The gallery erupts in uproar, its shadowy patrons shouting and waving, making such a hullabaloo.
“Sorry,” Fiona says, “Did I say something wrong?” But nobody hears her above the din. She starts to back away, fearful that these shadows might attack her in their obvious outrage, when a ringing bell cuts through the noise.
“There will be order in the court!” commands the Voice, a huge hand bell in its hands, its moulded plastic face somehow full of fury. Turning towards her, the doll continues. “Good lady, this is the Court of Doors, not some tawdry market. There is no commerce here, where all is freely given.”
